Dracul
by Roadblock Malloy
Summary: Loosely based on the novel Dracula by Bram Stoker. Harry is held captive in a large castle. His captor is not letting much on.


[A/N: I've been pouring over Bram Stoker's Dracula for about a month. It's for my English class in school, but it's still an amazing book. The thing is, whenever I envision characters from a book or something, I have to associate them with actors or other characters. It just so happens that when thinking of Jonathan Harker (captive solicitor in 'Dracula') I thought of Harry Potter. Dracula was just Draco.there's nothing more to it. The story is called 'Dracul' because the name 'Dracula' is translated into 'son of dragon.' The actual dragon is 'Dracul,' as is Draco (I'm assuming)]  
  
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Chapter I: The Dream  
  
Harry dreamt of a perfect day. The sun was upon his face, his jet-black hair blowing in all directions as he shielded his eyes from the golden rays of sunlight that pierced through the fluffy white clouds overhead, the sunbeams glared slightly off of his glasses. The wind was rippling slightly, and he was sitting beside the lake on the grounds of Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry. It was blissful and calming. Two of his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat beside him, all basking in the glow of the day that had befallen them. It seemed that they had just finished their end of the year exams, all probably passing with honors of course.  
  
Harry lazily rolled awake, as if nothing could disturb the dauntless image that was on his mind. He looked about, expecting to see the glorified image that had previously swirled about in his head. Instead, a dark room, lit by only a glimmer of silver moonlight greeted him. Everything rushed back to him and he suddenly realized where he was, and why he was there.  
  
The barred windows stared back at him like some leering demon, the moonlight glinting off of them into all directions. His cage was a lavishly decorated chamber, decorated with the finest black silk curtains. A velvety black bedspread was mussed from his tossing and turning and black velvet claw footed chairs that sat on an extremely smooth black and silver marble floor that almost resembled the placid surface of a pond. The four high posts of the bed were of stainless steel, jutting towards the ceiling with posh elegance. Silver candlesticks held tall black candles that ignited when his eyes had first opened.  
  
Paintings on the wall depicted rigid portraits of the same person over and over. Harry was no stranger to him. The same wispy blonde hair on the same pointed face with high cheekbones and cheeky smirk were on this boy's face in each picture. Within each exquisite frame, the Malfoy boy wore a different outfit. Some were robes of a modern style that hung gracefully on his slim frame and probably cost more than Harry's entire wardrobe. Others were thick jackets of deep colors, complete with ruffs about the neck and arms, looking terribly outdated. He held either a sword or a cane or something bearing the Malfoy emblem, and Harry noticed that along with the outdated outfits, the dates on the picture became earlier and earlier, back into times long ago. He also found it a bit peculiar that the styles got older and older, as if a different artist had painted each one.  
  
"Admiring my face again I see, Potter," a silky voice came from the shadows. With one graceful sweep, the object of the paintings seemed to glide to Harry's bedside. His whitish blonde hair was even brighter in the moonlight, as was his pale face. He smirked slightly, as was his forte, and began to make his away around the bed, almost pacing. "You slept well, I would assume, for you had such a blissful look upon your face as you dreamt."  
  
"You watch me as I sleep?" Harry spat, disgusted at the lengths that the Malfoy boy would go to for humiliation. He had been held captive in this house for longer than he could remember, and he was accustomed for his captor to appear suddenly in the night, but never during the day. "I had thought you could get no more disturbing, Malfoy. It wasn't enough to kidnap me and hide me away in your home, but you have to leer at me as I dream of better places."  
  
"When will you realize Potter?" he lunged suddenly, and his white hands clutched at the black sheath under which Potter lay. His face was dangerously close to the other boy's, who was cowering beneath the piercing gray-eyed glare. Within his eyes, there was malice, fury and lust so strong that it almost radiated from him. His breath was upon Potter's face. It was dank and foul; Potter began to ponder that if death had a distinguished odor, it would bear the aroma of Malfoy's breath. "That you can be at no better place. I brought you here simply to aid me! I should think that being as saintly as you are, you would be kind and oblige, and thank me for giving you such eloquent surroundings."  
  
He released the blanket and backed up gracefully, his flowing black robes hung down to the floor, shielding his feet and legs from view. The neck of his robes was high, reaching up to his chin and making his pale face seem even whiter. He spread his arms, the flowing sleeves hung from them fluttered lightly, and looked around. He then turned around in a circle slowly, as if presenting the room to Harry for the first time.  
  
"This is what I give to you, and this is what I get," he scowled down at the other boy, his eyes traveling over the bed and back to Potter. His white button down shirt was unbuttoned almost to the navel, and Potter's white skin glowed. Malfoy's eyes then traveled up to his neck. His neck was almost swanlike, far too graceful for the bumbling little boy that he knew the dark haired boy was. Malfoy's eyes became greedy and yearning and he tried to ignore the fact that Potter's neck was pulsing and practically calling out his name. He hastily turned his gaze toward the marble floor and the candlelight that was flickering there.  
  
"I did not agree to help you. I do not thank you for this, this sort of deviousness is low even for you Malfoy. Why did you do it? Is this something for your father? Do the Death Eaters want me, is that it." Potter's green eyes now blazed with light. He had regained some of his strength and with it, his courage. The lightning bolt scar that was slashed into his forehead was visible now more than ever.  
  
"I do not do things for my father, he has been dead for longer than you know." Malfoy's eyes began to change from pale, piercing gray, to dark and stormy gray. There seemed to be a slight breeze in the room, for his billowing black robes and cape flapped out behind him. "The Death Eaters are a folly not worth my precious time. I do things for one reason, and one reason only. I do things for myself."  
  
"That's very grown up of you. You're beginning to sound like the childish eleven year old I met in the robe shop seven years ago!" He bellowed, then sat in awe as he heard his own voice echo from the numerous halls and foyers outside his chamber.  
  
"Do not raise your voice!" Malfoy boomed. Harry flinched and sank back into the dark cushions. Malfoy's presence was uncanny. Not only did he feel powerless and weakened; once more he felt fear. Fear wasn't something he was used to. As a matter of fact, he had spent a good part of his life trying to overcome it. It was most certainly not welcome to him. "I shall leave you now. But first, I offer you a gift of sorts, a gesture that I hope you will appreciate. I'm allowing you to use my private library at your leisure. It is quite dull, though this room is so magnificent, to stay in here all day. And to broaden your magical mind, I shall let you read. It seems that you wish you were elsewhere. You shall find that between the many pages of a book. You know not the purpose you serve here with me, and I am not at will to tell you at this point in time. But get your rest, I must go, the sun rises and I need some rest of my own."  
  
"Sleep well," Every single ounce of spite Harry could muster and add to that which he possessed was thrown into those two words. The retreating form of Malfoy stopped and motioned to turn around and retort, but instead quickened it's pace, pausing to lock the door with a satisfying click before his footsteps were heard down the hall and out of earshot.  
  
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***** [End chapter one. What do you think? Please REVIEW!] 


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